Ride the Sky
by savingcas
Summary: Flying was usually an ordeal for Dean, but this turned out to be something quite different altogether.


17C was either a tax accountant or a sociopath, Dean was sure of it. Tax accountant judging by the rumpled tan trench coat, tie, and suit. Sociopath for the scrutinizing blue gaze that was flitting around the plane, hovering over every detail with absolute concentration. It was like he was absorbing the marvels of an airplane for the first time. It was like he was fascinated with each tiny aspect...

...it was like he was ensuring everything was in place to execute the hijacking of Dean's flight.

And fuck the guy, seated across the aisle from Dean in 17C, the counterpart to Dean's 17D, for his unruly black hair, long enough to be pulled, and his dry lips that were in need of a good swipe of tongue, preferably Dean's. Most of all, fuck him for eyes that were too deep and too blue, and which caused Dean to overlook the man's strange behavior, for a time, in favor of contemplating how 17C would look on his knees.

Dean acknowledged it was crass of him, imaging 17C with his mouth stretched and lips wet, but there was no harm in thoughts, so long as Den kept them to himself.

As the plane jerked forward Dean was torn from his not so subtle staring across the aisle, and the fear that had been momentarily stowed at the back of his mind came rushing forward all at once to settle in the pit of his stomach like a lead weight. They were moving, the great whine of the engines vibrating through the aircraft as a pretty brunette stewardess came forth to their section, ready to give them the mandatory safety instructions.

The stewardess began with her little hand gestures and the plane turned onto another part of the airstrip. Dean was growing more anxious by the second. Fuck Sam, for living four states away and fuck the Impala for being stuck in the shop.

Most of all though, fuck 17C, because on top of Dean's ordinary stress that came with flying, the strange attractive man across the aisle was wreaking havoc on Dean's nerves. The guy twisted in his seat to look back at the rear of the cabin, and then proceeded to bend down low, folding in half to look beneath his seat. By this point every single alarm was going off in Dean's head, the panic rising in his chest and making him feel shaky. He wanted to jolt up and tell them to open the door, let him off, he _needed_ off, but the stewardess was already wrapping up her little charade and the plane had made its final turn, now rumbling on the tarmac and preparing for take off.

That's when Dean pulled out his headphones and shoved them in, settling on the first song that came up and letting the harsh booming melody of _Some Kind of Monster_ lull him into a false sense of security.

He knew he was humming aloud with a glance to his right. There was a blonde seated next to him in 17E, pretty, with doe eyes, and by all accounts someone he wouldn't mind getting better acquainted with, but there was an amused smirk twisted on her lips that told Dean she could probably tell which verse he was on. Under other circumstances he may have brought out the charm that came easy to him, a loose grin and a slow once over with his eyes, but now, with the multitude of complications that came with flying looming over him added with the stress of a prospective terrorist attack by 17C, all he managed was shutting his eyes and gripping the armrest.

Dean almost shot out of his seat when he felt a hand on his shoulder, a gentle grip, but nonetheless his head snapped up to meet with the face of the stewardess. Up close he could see the little pair of wings pinned to her uniform. He also vaguely noticed that her lips were moving, though Metallica didn't allow for him to catch any of what she was saying.

"Sorry?" he questioned while pulling one headphone out.

"You will need to power down all electronic devices for take off, sir," she informed him, her tone soft and the look on her face kind, but Dean couldn't help but hate her, too, just a little, for ripping away his only shred of security.

He slipped the device into his pocket grudgingly but smiled up at the stewardess anyway. She gave his shoulder a slight squeeze before turning away to complete her last walk through before take off, however, she didn't even make it two steps before she spotted 17C on the other side of the aisle.

Dean was mentally cheering. Someone had finally caught on to the man's more than suspicious behavior. There was still time to save the flight from certain doom, they hadn't taken off, the stewardess could warn the pilot of the impending danger that was 17C. Dean did not have to die today.

"Sir," the stewardess placed her hand on 17C's shoulder, just as she had done with Dean, "I'll need you to stow your bag under the seat in front of you for take off."

All of Dean's hope of having the crazy dude to his left removed from the plane evaporated instantly, leaving behind only the raw, bitter taste of anxiety in his mouth and a tightening of muscles in his jaw.

"_Oh_," there was an exhalation, a sound of genuine surprise. Then all Dean heard was a rough grate of a voice, the sound setting his spine to tingling as 17C spoke, low, "Of course. My apologies." Dean watched as he took the battered briefcase from his lap (and how had Dean missed that detail?) and slid it in front of him.

The stewardess nodded her thanks and carried on down the aisle, leaving Dean to do nothing but bounce his left foot up and down in mounting uneasiness, trying not to look over to 17C.

"First time flyer?"

Through his haze of nerves Dean realized 17E was talking, pretty brown eyes turned toward him.

"Oh uh, no." Dean forced his foot to still and looked over to her. He tried for a grin, which must have come out as more of a grimace if the poorly suppressed chuckle from 17E was anything to go by. To avoid further embarrassment he turned away, choosing to focus on his tray table straight ahead. Below that he found the pocket of inflight magazines. He reached forward and pulled out the small laminated booklet, illustrating the steps to take in case of emergency.

The plane rumbled again, seeming to Dean that it was preparing to combust. He flipped to the back of the booklet, skimming down until his lips quirked up. "Calm as Hindu cows." He couldn't help but chuckle at his own reference and turned to see if his seat partner had caught that, but 17E didn't even have her eyes open. In fact, not only did she have her eyes shut, but there was a pink cord leading from her ears, connected to the iPod in her hand.

Dean wanted to protest, motion for the stewardess, because 17E was breaking the _rules_, and it wasn't fair that she was able to sneak her music while Dean had been caught. At risk of sounding like a petulant five year old though he settled for scowling and gripping his knees, and who cared if anyone noticed him white-knuckling.

The plane lurched forward then, building up speed, the world beyond the tiny window whisking away faster and faster. Dean breathed deeply, exhaling slow while trying to recall what verse he had been on.

_These are the looks that chill to the bone?_

On impulse his head snapped to the left when he heard a rumbling in his ear, different than that of the plane's. It sounded too close and there was a huff of breath against his face.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean hissed when he came face to face with eyes that rivaled the sky outside, bright and so vast that he might get lost.

"Don't worry," 17C was saying, muffled by the roar of the engines as the plane shook and lifted from the ground, Dean sinking back into his seat as the world tilted forty-five degrees. 17C was leaning all the way across the fucking _aisle_, bent so far over that there was no way he still had his seat buckled, and Dean wondered vaguely if he was the only one on this plane that had to follow regulations.

17C went on, "The odds of being killed on a single commercial flight are nearly one in twenty-nine and a half million with an eighty percent survival rate, although roughly twelve percent of crash survivors die of shock afterward. Still, in theory you are more likely to win the lottery than die in a plane crash."

"Oh..." Dean let out a nervous laugh and studied 17C's face, which held an expression of utmost seriousness. He swallowed, rough.

By now the plane had leveled out, finished in its ascent and cruising effortlessly through the sky. 17C leaned back to his own seat then and buckled the belt across his lap before taking out the book he had stored in the seat pouch in front of him, a flimsy little thing, paperback with a tearing front cover and yellowed pages.

Dean turned back to 17E to see if she had caught that exchange, but she still had her eyes shut and music playing. He sank back into his seat, realizing the worst part, take off, was already over. Now to just survive the next three and a half hours and he would be safe on the ground again.

He tried relaxing, plugging his music back in and letting his eyes fall shut as he shifted to get comfortable in the airplane seat that was too small and too stiff. As the world faded behind his eyelids Dean forgot all about the fact that he was 30,000 feet up in the air, and likewise about 17C with his deep voice, wrinkled trench coat, and airplane trivia knowledge.

Really, he was surprised he managed to drift off, but the thumping rhythm of bass must have rocked him into a steady slumber. He was all but torn out of a daydream about pie (and had the pie been flying through the air on great black wings?) when a voice came over the intercom and he was jostled in his seat. He paused on the words of _cross my heart hope not to die, swallow evil ride the sky_ and pulled out his headphones.

"Good afternoon everyone this is your captain speaking. We may experience a bit of turbulence for awhile," the pilot's voice droned on, sounding almost disinterested, and the little seat belt icon illuminated with a ding. "Nothing to worry about folks."

Dean worried.

His first instinct was to jump up from his seat and...and...and _what_? He couldn't exit at 30,000 feet, couldn't escape. This is what he hated most about flying; he was backing himself into a corner each time he stepped onto a plane. He was at the mercy of a giant scrap of metal with wings stuck on it, and someone whom he could only hope knew what they were doing behind the control panel.

In Dean's opinion, humans were never meant to be airborne.

The plane shook and he leaned forward to set his head against the seat in front of him, feeling the cool leather against his forehead. He was bouncing his foot again but didn't give a shit who saw, so long as this whole ordeal would just end.

One more jerk of the plane had Dean fumbling with his buckle. He was up and out of his seat, feet carrying him him to the rear of the plane so quickly that he did not take notice of the empty spot of 17C. He could feel the gazes of curious passengers sticking to his back, but fuck them and fuck the little icon that insisted he remain seated, too.

He ended up in front of the stall door leading to the bathroom, and Dean reached out to yank the handle.

**OCCUPIED**.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered and continued to pull at the handle anyway. "Hey," he knocked once, harsh. "I gotta use the bathroom." He thought he could hear the squeak of a faucet and running water. There was some more shuffling beyond the door and Dean bent his head, willing his breathing to remain steady.

As soon as he heard the click of the latch, little plaque turning from **OCCUPIED** to **VACANT**, he didn't think twice about barreling his way into the tiny compartment, not bothering to make way for the other person still trying to exit and not minding the fact that he nearly ripped the flimsy two fold door off its hinges.

Dean barely had time to register the small corner sink, the tiny soap dispenser, or the fact that 17C was standing with his back against the door, which had shut again. All Dean saw were the bursts of color and light behind his lids when he clamped them shut, leaning his elbows on what little counter space there was over the sink, head bowed and back heaving with each shuddering breath he took. He felt a bit clammy and there were beads of sweat starting to form at his hairline, cool and sticky against his skin. His stomach was set to roiling and he felt the first waves of nausea begin to surface.

"Hey..." there was a voice from directly behind him and Dean could sense the other body shifting, much too close in the cramped space. "Don't worry, it will pass," 17C told him and suddenly a hand was at his back, surprisingly warm as it rubbed a steady path between his shoulder blades. Somewhere in the back of his mind Dean thought he should move away, but it was a small fragment of a thought, while the majority of his brain caught onto the fact that the hand rubbing his back was soothing, a firm, reassuring pressure. The sound of the aircraft seemed amplified somehow in the tiny compartment, like being stuck inside a seashell, but Dean continued to breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth, all the while the hand at his back remained.

Eventually the spinning in Dean's head seemed to ebb and he was able to stand up straight without feeling like he was tipping over the edge of a cliff. His eyes blinked open, and in the mirror he caught sight of the man behind him. Dean turned, a bit hesitant.

"I..." Dean swallowed hard, "thanks, for uh- yeah. I just, I don't like flying," he finished lamely and went to rub the back of his neck.

17C's eyes followed the movement. "Yes, I gathered as much."

Another uncertain chuckle. Maybe 17C was actually really gorgeous, especially in such close proximity, with his sort of 'just rolled out of bed after being ravished look', but Dean wasn't going to be that person who didn't return to his seat only to be found later, dismembered in the cargo hold of the aircraft after crossing paths with the psychopath on the plane. Dean was fairly certain those sorts of things happened from time to time, and 17C seemed the type.

17C was also just staring at him intently, not making any sort of move to exit even though there was a serious violation of personal space happening within the bathroom built for one. Dean coughed and straightened himself out, shoulders squaring.

"Well seeing as how the turbulence has passed I'll just get back to my seat now."

It was at that moment the plane gave another great lurch and Dean found himself flailing like an uncoordinated moron, along with 17C, who seemed just as surprised at the sudden movement. There was no time for thinking and Dean reached out to steady himself on the nearest thing within arms length, ending up with a fistful of 17C's trench coat. Likewise, 17C's hands shot out to grab at Dean's arms, and there they stood, merely clutching at each other until the tremor passed.

"Fuck," Dean huffed a laugh, fingers tightening in the material of the coat he clung to. It was more of an instinctive action than anything else, Dean leaning down until his head rested against 17'C shoulder, which wasn't quite comfortable but there were hands on his back again tracing a path across his spine. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears and feel the overwhelming sensation of something rising in his throat, but he willed it down, focused on the slow up and down movement along his vertebra.

"I could..." the voice was warm against the side of his head, and Dean wanted to look up but feared he may actually end up tossing his breakfast all over 17C's shoes, and no matter how creepy or unnatural someone was _no one_ deserved leftover pie regurgitated all over them.

Though, he really should give 17C more credit, Dean thought, because despite him acting weird and suspicious and generally making Dean feel a bit on edge, he sure did seem to know what he was doing now, the smooth methodical stroke of his hands working to silence the queasiness that had knotted in Dean's stomach. Maybe Dean could dismiss all of his prior concerns, so long as 17C kept moving his hands along Dean's back.

"I could help," 17C was speaking again, "until the aircraft has navigated through the rough patches."

"You're doing wonders with your hands already," Dean murmured into his shoulder, loathe to move away now that 17C had built up a good rhythm.

"I could help more." The movement against his back stopped and Dean would resolutely deny any sort of a whimper escaping the back of his throat. Then the words clicked and he couldn't help but look up. 17C was staring straight through him again, eyes boring in and piercing the surface, making Dean shift his feet.

Surely he was not being propositioned in the restroom of an airplane.

"I...what?" Dean hated how unsteady his voice sounded.

"I could offer a form of comfort until the aircraft has steadied, if you are agreeable of course. It may help with the motion sickness you are currently experiencing, serve as a distraction you might say."

"You're saying we should have sex, here, in this bathroom, on a plane." The words were out before Dean could stop them, blunt as ever, and he wasn't sure if the shitty bathroom lighting was to blame for the glint in 17C's eyes or his own imagination.

"If that's what you believe would help." 17C's voice may have gone a notch deeper, and if the rough rumble had Dean's cock twitching in his pants with interest, well, no one had to know about it. Dean rubbed a hand over his face, peering out through his fingers.

17C peered back, something indiscernible swimming in his eyes.

Dean still didn't respond as 17C sank to his knees before him, head tilted up, as if beckoning, and Dean's previous mental image of 17C on his knees was nothing compared to the actual sight.

"Shit," Dean breathed out, not sure if it was from the plane giving another shake or 17C reaching out with his fingers towards Dean's belt. He managed to stammer out, "Name...what's your name," the words not coming easy as all of his concentration was centered on nimble fingers working at his zipper, but he couldn't keep calling the guy 17C in his head at this point.

The hands paused and Dean's breathing stilled when 17C looked up through his lashes. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely, but Dean caught it all the same, and down on his knees with his hair in disarray, eyes darkened and those lips quirking just so, Dean knew he was done for.

"Castiel."

The word threw him. For a moment Dean wasn't sure how to interpret the answer, the foreign mash of syllabus rolling around in his head until his pants were being pulled past his thighs, and then all rational thought flew out the window, replaced by a warm ghost of a breath against his cock still beneath his boxers, along with the realization he was already half hard.

"_Shit_." Dean's hands went behind him, gripping at the edge of the counter, back arching to press his hips forward, the heat of Castiel's breath urging him on. There were hands on his thighs, massaging, and then fingers inching up to the hem, just dipping below the fabric.

Castiel stayed like that, eyes looking back up, Dean looking down. Dean almost thought he was about to pull back in some sort of cruel joke, but then his fingers gave a pull and Dean found himself bare from the waist down, exposed in front of this stranger in an airplane _restroom_, for Christ's sakes.

Dean didn't dwell on the indecency of it all for long though, because there was a hand gripping him at the base of his erection and the pad of a thumb running along the vein at the underside. Dean willed himself to keep watching and waiting, to not thrust his hips forward greedily like he wanted to, because he wasn't quite sure how this was supposed to go. What was the protocol for casual random hookups with strange attractive men in airplane restrooms? He didn't have any prior experience in this area to draw from.

17C, _Castiel_, was still just running his fingers lightly over Dean's cock, dragging up to circle around the crown before skirting back down, almost timid. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, until Castiel glanced back up to Dean and took the tip into his mouth to suck. Only then did Dean allow his eyes to snap shut, a strangled groan rising out of his chest to mingle with the muffled sound of the plane's engine and the dirty, slick sucking sound of Castiel's lips as he drew Dean in deeper, a hand coming up to stroke along the shaft.

His fingers curled around the edge of the counter behind him as Dean tried to keep his hips from just snapping forward into the heat, a difficult task when it turned out Castiel's tongue was really skilled at moving along under his dick and drawing out the most undignified sounds from Dean's mouth. He was sucking Dean down in earnest now, fist pumping his length and his mouth stretching to take as much as he could.

Dean knew he was being loud, the sharp groans bouncing around in the tiny space, but he reasoned the sound of the engine covered it up well enough, and here, at the back of the plane, who would be able to hear him? When Castiel started humming, the vibrations traveling all the way up Dean's back, he couldn't help the sudden thrust forward, punctuated by a curse as he tried to pull back, but then there was a hand on the back of his thigh, keeping him in place, and when Dean opened his eyes he found that Castiel still had his gaze lifted, as if he hadn't stopped watching Dean the entire time.

And fuck Castiel, _17C_, for looking absolutely beautiful, on his knees and still wearing that damned trench coat, cheeks flushed with Dean's cock in his mouth like this had been his plan all along, ever since he boarded the flight. The other man's pupils were blown and Dean could see the bulge in his dress pants even from above, and it only made him harder, twitching as Castiel's lips dragged off to suck at the head, tongue lapping along the slit where precome was leaking, pulling another cry from Dean.

That's when Dean's hands shot out, unable to restrain himself any longer and he twined his fingers at the back of Castiel's head, slipping through the hair that was indeed long enough to grip and give a nice tug to. It was Castiel now that was making a small whimpering at the back of his throat, tongue still working at the slit of Dean's cock as Dean held his head in place. The hand on the back of his thigh gripped and urged him forward, nudging Dean closer and then drawing him back out.

Looking down into Castiel's eyes Dean seemed to understand, and he gave a preliminary thrust of his hips, watching Castiel's mouth open for him and swallow him down. He groaned, deep and uninhibited before he let go entirely, hands holding tight to the back of his head while Dean rocked forward into wet heat.

Dean wasn't sure when it started happening but he found himself panting, the short syllable of _Cas, Cas, Cas_ falling from his lips without even thinking about it. Muffled grunts and huffs were coming from the other man but he still made no move to stop the rhythm set by Dean's hips, only swallowed down everything he was given, eyes still locked on Dean's, looking so damn open and encouraging as Dean fucked steadily into his mouth, down his throat.

It was when a hand reached forward to take his balls in hand, Cas rolling them in his palm, that Dean knew he wasn't going to last. He growled, may have cursed too loudly before he pulled away as a sort of warning, but Cas held him there, lips wrapping around the head of his cock and lapping at him, and with that Dean was coming hard, the mouth wrapping around him and sucking Dean through the shudders of pleasure.

Cas kept at it, licking away everything until Dean felt too sensitive, too raw, and he had to pull back, legs suddenly feeling unstable without Cas' hands to center him anymore. He released his grip on Cas' hair to lean back against the counter, breaths coming heavy, neck flushed and cock spent.

Dean allowed himself to look down once he regained some sort of normal breathing pattern, at Cas still on his knees, rumpled coat and lopsided tie, mouth swollen and slick, and whose eyes were still looking straight to Dean. The man licked his lips then, running over smoothly. Dean trailed his eyes down and found Cas' hands splayed against his own thighs, erection still evident beneath his pants, and yet he still made no move, not to touch himself, not to even get up from the floor.

The first thing that came to Dean's mind to break the silence was a thank you. In his mind it sounded too absurd though, too formal, and by now they were past all of the formalities, he assumed. He went with the second thing that came to mind instead, didn't give himself much time to consider before the words came spilling out, perhaps a bit reverent, "Who _are_ you?"

That seemed to chip at Cas' composure, had him grasping for words, but all he managed was a hesitant, "I'm...Castiel." Dean didn't respond and Cas seemed to take it as a cue to go on, "I teach literature."

Dean couldn't help laughing at that, at the entire situation. Who would have thought his flight would have taken such a turn.

He moved to pull up his pants, zipping them and smoothing his hands down his legs in a poor attempt to cover up what had just happened.

"Do you want me to... you know..." Dean motioned at Cas, at his pants. His position on the floor, with legs parted and bent, gave a more than decent view of what was underneath. "I wouldn't mind, is what I'm saying. I mean I figure I owe you at least that."

Cas only shook his head though, and this seemed to prompt him to rise, brushing the front of his pants as well. "We have occupied this restroom well beyond what is deemed socially acceptable without drawing unnecessary attention to ourselves. I think it would be best if we didn't linger." He took his trench coat then, wrapping it around himself and effectively hiding the erection he was sporting.

It was all it took to make Dean feel entirely shitty then. He had just been given a blow job (and one hell of a blow job at that) by a guy he had only been acquainted with for hardly an hour, thoroughly fucked his mouth until he came, and now he was about to send the guy back to his seat to wait out the rest of the flight with his cock hard between his legs. It seemed pretty ungracious on his end, Dean thought, even if Cas was the one declining his offer of reciprocity.

Before Dean could try to work the matter out though Cas was turning away with his hand poised at the latch of the door. He looked over his shoulder then. "I'll exit first so that we may seem less obvious." He didn't wait a moment to slide the door open, pulling it shut behind him quietly.

Only when Dean was left alone in the bathroom to work over in his mind what the hell had just occurred did he realize that the turbulence had died down long ago.

He took another minute to regain complete composure, made sure he wiped his face and washed his hands, and even flushed the toilet for good measure. Walking back to his seat proved more difficult than he thought. He could feel the eyes follow him all the way back, and it was ridiculous to think that he was doing a walk of shame down an airplane aisle. He quickened his pace and scratched an invisible itch at the back of his neck, sinking back into place next to 17E.

17E was wide awake, munching on the complimentary peanuts (Dean realized he managed to miss out on the singular aspect he enjoyed about flying). She spared him a glance as Dean slid back into his seat and pulled the belt across his lap, eyes flitting him over, and if he didn't know any better he would say that she knew exactly just what he'd been up to in the back of the plane.

Dean ignored the looks though. What he couldn't ignore was 17C, who, upon Dean gathering the courage to to angle his head just to the left to get a sweeping glance at Castiel, was sitting upright, book open and eyes running along the words so calmly as if he hadn't just been taking Dean's cock down his throat not ten minutes ago. He wasn't sure what about Cas' nonchalant attitude got under his skin and made him irrationally agitated, and he definitely didn't want to analyze the mess of thoughts running through his mind, so Dean settled for a sigh and reclined the back of his seat, telling himself that at least he would have material for later when he was alone with his hand.

The remainder of the flight was decidedly uneventful, not there could have been much to live up to the first half. Within a few hours the plane was making its descent, wheels screeching along the landing strip and coming to a halt at the gate.

There was the usual scramble, people trying to get out of their seats and retrieve their overhead luggage as quickly as possible, and others resigning themselves to stay seated until the crowd passed. Dean was shuffled down the aisle with the flow, neck craning back to get one last look at Castiel, back to 17C, back to the strange attractive man in the trench coat.

Dean walked out the boarding tunnel and through the gate. Sam would be waiting for him outside at the curb he knew, ready to pick him up, and yet...

Dean halted at the threshold, hovering next to the seats where passengers waited to board the next flight. People slowly filtered through the gate, and with them he spotted the head of messy black hair, only now noticing the way it stuck up defiantly in the back, a product of Dean's hands.

"Cas!" Dean waved a hand in the air, motioning him over when they made eye contact. He seemed hesitant at first, but soon enough Cas changed direction, not stopping until he was just inside of Dean's personal space- if personal space was still applicable after having your dick in someone's mouth.

Dean studied his face momentarily, the man's features schooled and giving nothing away, before offering with his hand outstretched, "Dean." Cas studied him back before accepting the gesture, hands clasping and shaking slow. When Cas pulled back Dean continued, "I'm visiting my brother over the holiday. Flying back in a week or so."

Cas was nodding but Dean wasn't sure anything was registering with the man. Cas shuffled his feet and Dean began feeling stupid for ever flagging him down in the first place. He should have just archived the memory, passed it off as one of those candid moments in life and moved on. Dean was already formulating an exit strategy when Cas responded.

"I'm visiting my siblings as well. I believe my sister intends to have a taco bar in place of the traditional Christmas dinner, and I'm afraid my brother may try to persuade me to consume excessive amounts of alcohol." Castiel shifted his feet, a bit uneasily before continuing, "I don't usually do this. Gabriel always tells me I need to 'live a little.' I don't know why I took his advice now..."

Dean threw his head back as he laughed, too loud and to the displeasure of some of the people seated at the gate, but Dean didn't care, his hand landing on Castiel's shoulder. When he looked back to Cas he found him smiling, small, the hint of upturned lips, but it was there.

"You know I was being serious when I said I would help you out...back in the plane."

Cas looked off to the side and Dean noted his cheeks taking on a bit of a flush. It suited him.

When Dean spoke next his voice was lower and he ducked his head towards Castiel's ear, "If you still need help of course, I'm happy to lend a helping hand."

Sam questioned him afterward why it had taken Dean so long to get out, but he only offered his brother a smirk, a shrug, and a chuckle in response, finger tracing the slip of paper in his pocket. He didn't think Sammy wanted to know that Dean had discovered the guy seated in 17C made these breathy sort of sighs when Dean fisted over his cock in the airport bathroom, so he settled with saying, "There are some things you shouldn't ask about, Sammy." Sam agreed wholeheartedly, throwing his hands up with the declaration of "_Nevermind_!" before he pulled onto the highway.

Thanks for reading, feedback always appreciated ^^


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